That Day
by Thousand Sunny Lyon
Summary: On the Training of Colonels: or, That Day. Contrary to what you might read in fanfiction, Riza Hawkeye does not shoot at her coworkers. Except that one time, but he really, really deserved it. RoyAi Day contribution. T for L.


**Dislaimer:** If I owned FMA, Mustang would own a cat.

**AN:** For RoyAi Day. Almost missed it. Almost. Not late at all. Okay, I woke up at 9:30 PM (and this is normal for me lately) and that did not leave me much time. This story is inspired by an RP between HayakuGaki as Roy and myself as Riza. No time for beta, so I apologize for any mistakes and its hurried-ness!

**On the Training of Colonels:**

**or, **

**That Day**

Some days aren't worth getting up for.

It didn't matter if the skies couldn't be bluer, it didn't matter if friendly neighbors waved as they passed to pick up the morning paper, it didn't matter if birds chirped merrily from the boughs of trees heavy with fresh new spring greens and flowering blossoms.

What mattered was she had been called into work from a dead sleep on a Saturday morning and sat in the idling car for half an hour while Colonel Roy Mustang sat in his breakfast nook with his toast and coffee, reading the morning paper. The one he asked her to fetch for him from his front door because she didn't expect him to do it in his _slippers_, now did she?

Fingers drumming on the steering wheel and glaring at the breakfast nook, First Lieutenant Riza Hawkeye damned all slippers to burn in hell.

* * *

Mustang sighed as he leaned back in his leather office chair, carding his fingers through his hair.

Hawkeye tried to ignore him and took another sip of her coffee, her nerves still a bit on edge. They were the only ones in the office that day, as nothing else needed to be done but process grading scores of this year's failed State Alchemist applicants.

He eyed her cup, then pushed back his chair to stand. "I'm going to grab some coffee," he stated.

"Yes sir." She picked up her pen and continued to make duplicates of all the scores to be mailed back to the applicant, a tedious chore.

The man stalked out of the office, but she figured he could use the break from his desk and ignored his quiet tantrum. His job was no less tedious: write a personal letter of review to every failed applicant on why they failed and encourage each to study harder and try again.

Besides, she felt calmer with him out of the room.

The minute hand on the wall clock swept on. And on. The Colonel had disappeared into the lounge quite some time ago. The Lieutenant eyed the doorway. His usual driver had weekends off, so she couldn't go home until his work was done, too, and now the Colonel was procrastinating in the lounge!

Finally, steaming mug in hand (too steaming, Hawkeye noted, for this to be his first cup), Mustang sauntered through the doorway and took a seat at his desk.

"Welcome back, Colonel."

Some kind of grunt was her answer.

She glared at the report card in front of her, the bad mood really getting on her last nerve.

A few yards away, his stack of papers received an equally unhappy expression from the Colonel.

Not hearing anything getting done, the blonde sighed quietly, trying to quell her irritation.

Mustang scratched his chin in intense concentration, staring at the paperwork.

For a moment, Hawkeye had hope.

He folded a piece.

What the f**k.

The first plane sailed across the room. Unfortunately, it landed in her coffee cup and splashed the hot, brown liquid across her desk.

Hawkeye froze.

So did Mustang.

She slowly reached over and removed the paper plane from her cup, then held it over the trash can, shaking it once before opening it.

"This week's armory guard schedule?" she exclaimed.

Mustang rocked back in his seat. "It's a copy."

The Lieutenant groaned softly and dropped it in the can, standing to get some paper towels.

"You know, the higher the rank, the further they fly," he smirked.

Hawkeye imagined testing that theory with a sound Colonel tossing from the roof, but busied herself blotting up the coffee from her desk with wads of paper towels.

Another plane soared, this time hitting the back of her head, sticking in the fringe of her up-do.

"Colonel!"

He blinked owlishly. "Wow... my aim is really off today."

She snatched the paper out of her hair and checked it. "Office supplies request?"

"It should be sent to supply, not my desk. I could send it air mail..."

She closed her eyes and takes a deep breath. "Please get to work, sir."

The grown man huffed and stared at the paper in front of him, no doubt working out the mechanics of another plane.

The mess cleaned up and deposited in her trash can, Hawkeye flopped back into her seat and tried to focus on her own work.

Somehow unable to stop, Mustang began to fold the paper.

Hearing the sound, Hawkeye shot him a look that could curdle vinegar, but he was too engrossed in his "work" to notice.

"Colonel."

He looked up.

She still sent him the deadly stare.

He took note and sat up straighter, clearing his throat.

"There's a lot of work to do and there's only one way it will go away."

"Well, technically it's disappearing this way, too-"

The pen in her hand broke in half.

He shut up, unfolded the paper, and worked very hard to smooth it out and read it.

Fortunately, the roll of paper towels still stood on the desk beside her. Hawkeye used them to clean up the small ink mess and pulled out another pen, shutting the drawer with more force than necessary.

All was quiet for a long while, work actually getting done. She began to think she won this one and she might even get off work in time to do something with Rebecca that evening. Then Hawkeye's "Roy Senses" began tinging. Immediately after, she heard a tiny crinkle.

"I know what you're doing, sir."

He stopped mid fold.

Her pen scratched on, refusing to look at him. But she knew, she _knew_.

'It is illegal to kill a superior officer, it is illegal to kill a superior officer, it is illegal to kill a superior officer...'

He let it fly. Hawkeye saw a streak of white flashing past her vision.

"Dammit Colonel, you may outrank me, but I outgun you."

His brow arched up his forehead in slight mortal concern. He looked between the woman pretending to ignore him a few yards away and the next plane laying on his desk.

While he debated his risks, Hawkeye hurriedly finished her work, set her pen down triumphantly, scooped up the stack of reports, marched them across the office, and smacked them down on his desk. She folded her arms and glared between him and the plane.

Pen poised above a halfway finished letter, he leaned closer, protectively, to the plane.

"Colonel..."

A few seconds ticked by... and the paper flew, landing in a skid on the floor near the door. Mustang shrugged. "It was already made, no reason to waste it."

"I'm not paid to pick up after you."

"I never said you had to pick it up."

"And I also can't do your work for you."

"I never said you had to do that either."

Smug bastard. "When you don't get documents processed in time, I'm the one who hears about it first."

"It's my work... as pointless as it is." To pacify her and send her away, he hovered the desk and continued with the letter.

There went her weekend. Hawkeye nodded almost imperceptibly and returned to her desk, deciding she might as well start with next week's work while she's stuck there.

No more paper airplanes, but the man continued to push her buttons. Spinning his pen on his desk, staring out the window, staring- or glaring, rather- at the stacks of paper on his desk, anything but work. The two even bickered back and forth over some missing paperwork for a General that Mustang misplaced somewhere within the many stacks of papers on and even beside his desk.

The Lieutenant, meanwhile, finished all the work she had for next Monday.

"Time for my lunch break, Colonel," she announced, standing stiffly in front of his desk. "I'm sure you won't mind staying in to catch up on your work?"

His dark eyes narrowed. "I don't get paid for that hour."

She met his gaze evenly. "I understand, sir. I don't get paid for my overtime today, either."

Resigned and looking a little sheepish, he put his pen to paper.

"See you in an hour, Colonel. Can I bring you something?"

"Whatever's being served..."

Hawkeye nodded and left.

An hour later, she returned with a brown paper bag in hand. Immediately upon entering, she checked his desk to see how close to going home she was, but found it impossible to discern among the mess.

She set the bag on the desk in front of him. "Here you are, Colonel."

Silence. She looked up.

Mustang sat back in his chair, chin hanging low to his chest and arms folded, sound asleep.

That's it. If the future of Amestris lies in the hands of this man, they're all doomed.

The Lieutenant took slow steps around the desk and dropped to one knee, withdrew her weapon from her waist, and fired through the back legs of his chair. The wood splintered into nothingness.

The sound of the shot woke Mustang with a startled jerk, arms flinging out to catch onto nothing as he fell back onto the floor in an unceremonious heap.

Hawkeye stood and holstered her gun, then folded her arms and waited, glaring at him.

Wide-eyed with shock and heart racing, Mustang stared up at his lieutenant.

"Had a productive afternoon, I see."

"What the hell, Hawkeye?" he shouted breathlessly. "What's the meaning of this?"

Calmly, "The chair had a broken leg and had to be put down. You know how a horse has to be put down when it stops working, Colonel _Mustang_."

His eyes opened wider, mouth hanging agape.

"Is there anything else in the office that _isn't working_, sir?" She reached back to touch her gun.

A long, quiet pause. "No Lieutenant... Everything is working fine..."

"Enjoy your egg salad, sir." Hawkeye turned on her heel and returned to her desk.

To everyone's pleasant surprise, the Colonel became a very self-motivated man and never procrastinated work again.

**AN:** Please review and let me know your thoughts!


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